


Finale

by El Staplador (elstaplador)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Casual Sex, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Hotel Sex, Post-Canon, Sneaking Around, World Figure Skating Championships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-02 11:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11508312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador
Summary: It's the World Figure Skating Championships. Mila is more nervous than anybody should be about an exhibition skate, and Sara is letting her hair down. Some end of season fun!





	Finale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerenadeStrong (ninja_orange)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninja_orange/gifts).



The World Figure Skating Championships. The last skate of the season; the greatest and the glitziest. And it was almost over. The hard work had been completed. Hostilities had ceased. The short program and the free program were over and done. The medals had been handed out. There was only the exhibition to go, and nobody cared about the exhibition. So long as you chose a catchy song to skate to, wore a memorable costume, threw in a couple of showy tricks, and didn't fall over, they'd love you.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to be worried about.

And yet Mila, watching from the darkness, waiting for her turn to perform, couldn't deny that her heart was beating a little too fast. It couldn't have had anything to do with the skating, so it must have been something to do with the way that Sara Crispino had caught Mila after the free program and murmured, 'I'll see you at the banquet? And, perhaps, afterwards...?'

 _Perhaps, afterwards..._ Mila pleated the hem of her exhibition costume between her fingers and looked out across the ice.

'You can't dance a hornpipe on skates,' someone had said, early in the season, and Mila had to concede that this was almost certainly true. Still, even impeded as she was by the cutlass tucked into her shiny wide belt, Sara was making a very impressive attempt. With her dark hair curled into ringlets and tied back with a white ribbon at the nape of her neck, her tight breeches, and exuberant white shirt, she made a very dashing seafarer.

In fact, the hornpipe occupied only the first twenty seconds of the piece. A crash of chords brought it to a sudden halt and Sara straightened in a lovely Ina Bauer as a low, thunder-like growl of horns and kettle-drums heralded a storm, or a battle, or both. Sara drew the sword and stalked around the rink in something that was half fencing demonstration, half step sequence. It should have looked stupid, Mila thought, but it was unbearably tense. The blades of the skates flashed in the spotlight, echoing the thrust and parry of the cutlass. A few steps backwards, then, pressing forwards again, with the blade held horizontally, a slash to the left, then to the right, and a triumphant flourish.

With the invisible opponent defeated, Sara, skating backwards, tossed the sword into the air and caught it on its way down. She crouched low, and sent it skittering off to the side of the rink.

Now she could really throw herself into the routine. The hornpipe motif returned, and Sara went into a dazzling Biellmann spin – flashed across the ice – into a double axel – a swaggering spread eagle – and a camel spin to finish.

And then the wink – they all knew it was coming; it was as impeccably choreographed as the rest of the routine – but this time it felt as if it were directed straight at Mila.

*

They met in the lobby on the way into the banquet, and Mila could never quite decide afterwards whether or not that was a coincidence. Sara was transformed. Her hair had been sculpted into a glossy chignon, her amethyst drop earrings accentuated her long neck, and the severe lines of her forest-green dress made her skin luscious and inviting. Mila wanted to reach out and touch her.

As if reading her thoughts, Sara slipped a companionable hand into Mila's arm. 'Come on,' she said, 'let's go in together.'

A few desultory flashbulbs fired as they entered the ballroom, but there was little interest in the two of them otherwise. 'Everyone's waiting for Yuuri Katsuki to do something outrageous,' Mila said ruefully.

Sara laughed. 'The poor man! One little dance-off, and it takes the rest of your skating career to live it down! Well, it's their loss. You're looking lovely.'

'So are you, but we clash,' Mila said, looking down at her own jade green. 'No wonder nobody wants any photos.'

Sara made a face. 'Mickey's tie matches my dress.'

'Where is Mickey, anyway? I'd have thought he'd have come down with you.'

'Probably hammering at my bedroom door.' She smiled. 'I told him I'd be ready at nine.'

'It's only half past eight.'

'And I was ready at quarter past.' The smile became conspiratorial. 'He'll give up in about five minutes, and come down here, and find me talking to our coach. I'll see you later?' She disengaged her arm and nudged Mila gently away from her.

  
They found each other again after twenty minutes of tedious networking. Which was quite enough for Mila. 'Come and get a drink with me?' she suggested. 'Or are you too worried about our terrible colour scheme?'

'I think I'll cope,' Sara said. 'So long as I'm only looking at you I can't see it anyway.' She glanced over her shoulder.

Mila followed her gaze, and saw Michele Crispino deep in conversation with somebody who might have been an Italian sports correspondent.

Sara relaxed visibly; she grabbed Mila's hand and led her towards the bar, taking an unnecessary diversion around behind some potted plants. 'Champagne?' she said, as if it wasn't really a question. She helped herself to two flutes and handed one to Mila. ' _Saluti!_ To the end of the season!'

'And to next year,' Mila said, and drank.

'This one isn't quite over,' Sara said. Her eyes met Mila's. 'Yet.'

'You've enjoyed it, then?'

Sara grinned. 'It's had its moments.'

' _Have_ you been dating?' Mila asked.

'It depends,' she said, 'on how you want to define _dating_. If you mean, have I been letting eligible young men take me out to dinner and buy me roses, then the answer's no. If, however, you mean, have I been amusing myself ever so discreetly – at, for example, international skating competitions – then it's yes.'

Mila did her best to banish a series of increasingly vivid pictures of what _amusing myself_ might look like. 'I thought you told your brother you were going to start...'

'Yes, but the idea of him interrogating any potential date on their intentions is mortifying for everyone, particularly when my own intentions would horrify him.' She swept a long, speculative glance across Mila's face, and Mila didn't look away.

She could feel herself blushing as she said, 'Do you think it's warm in here?'

'Come on,' Sara said. 'Let's get some air.'

They made their way out onto the terrace, past a little gaggle of smokers, past a few embracing couples, past a trio of ISU officials discussing some scandal in piercing whispers.

'Here we go,' Sara said. 'This is better. Much more private. And, er, cooler.'

'You just like sneaking around!' Mila exclaimed, feeling inordinately proud of herself for having worked it out.

'You found out my secret,' Sara said dryly. 'Whatever will I do now?'

'You'll just have to think of a way to stop me talking.'

'I think you already did,' Sara said, and leant in and kissed her.

Mila kissed her back.

If it was any cooler outside, it was difficult to tell. And Mila didn't particularly care.

Sara pulled away at last. 'Thirty minutes,' she said, rather breathlessly. 'Room 307.'

*

The thirty minutes felt like a week. Mila forced herself to do another round of the sponsors and grandees, knowing that if she didn't speak to them unprompted then Yakov would march her around the room by main force. She nodded politely to Sara's brother, who nodded politely back. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sara herself gliding discreetly from the room. Mila, herself discreet, glanced at the clock over the bar. Ten minutes.

In a spirit of experimentation, she introduced Georgi to the ladies' bronze medallist, a pleasant brunette from Canada who had just broken up with her girlfriend. Although, she thought, nobody at the rink would thank her for getting him into a long-distance relationship. She let Victor tell her about Yuri Katsuki's free program for next season and how good it was going to be. She listened politely to some sports correspondent's views on the 6.0 system.

At last she escaped from all the people she was meant to be talking to, and, with a cursory glance over her shoulder, left the ballroom and strode across the deserted lobby as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she was doing. Too impatient to wait for the lift, and swayed by Sara's fondness for secrecy, she dashed up the three flights of stairs. She waited a few seconds on the landing, composing herself, before looking to her right and to her left and tapping very gently on the door of room 307.

The door opened a few centimetres, and Sara peeped through the gap, her eyes sparkling with fun. 'Come in,' she said, and undid the chain.

Mila slipped inside, and Sara closed the door after her. She had changed out of her dress into a violet satin robe, the belt tied loosely. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, slightly dishevelled, with a single grip still caught in it. This time, Mila didn't stop herself from reaching out, from gently disentangling the hair grip, from tugging at the belt until it slithered free and the robe slipped downwards.

She followed it with her eyes. 'Sara...' she said.

Sara caught her by the wrists. 'Don't tell me you're going to lose your nerve now.'

' _No_. Of course not,' Mila said.

'Good.' Sara took one step forward and kissed Mila, hard.

Finding all her senses overwhelmed, Mila closed her eyes, but that couldn't take away the taste of champagne on Sara's lips, her quick breath and the soft rustle of her hair, the scent of smoke and jasmine, or the glorious warmth of her skin. She gasped; she couldn't help it.

Sara laughed softly and kept kissing her, biting at her bottom lip, as she reached to unzip her dress. Hands freed, Mila pulled her closer, pushed the sleeves of the robe down and over her hands.

'Bed,' Sara said, as Mila's dress joined the robe on the floor.

' _Yes_ ,' Mila said, as her underwear followed it.

They would probably have got there quicker if either of them could have brought herself to take her hands off the other for more than a couple of seconds; but the delay was enjoyable in itself, and the conclusion was worth the wait. Mila tumbled backwards onto the bed and pulled Sara down with her, laughing and kissing. By the time they had disentangled themselves, Sara was straddling her, those lovely strong thighs warm against her hips, and looking down with a mischievous expression on her face.

No, Mila thought, she needn't have things all her own way; and she laid her thumb over Sara's lips, and smiled when her tongue darted out to lick it. Mila trailed it down, between her breasts, along the mid-line of her body, searching gently until Sara caught her breath.

'No, come here...' Sara slid a few centimetres back along Mila's legs and pulled her up to sitting. Which worked very well indeed, because it let Mila get at Sara's nipples as well.

' _Mila_...' Sara gasped.

She wasn't troubling to keep things quiet now, Mila thought gleefully.

And Sara was rolling them both over, running the tip of a finger up the inside of Mila's thigh, and kissing down, down, down... She was _good_ , Mila thought, surprisingly good, but then that was Sara for you, she always surprised you with how good she was, on the ice or off it...

That was the last coherent thought that she had for some time.

  
Mila remembered vaguely that somebody had told her once that the smooth thing to do after an enjoyable but casual hookup was to leave before it all got awkward. But she was already half asleep. And anyway, this was _Sara_. If things were awkward, she thought, it wouldn't be anything they couldn't sort out next season with an intense, if ultimately meaningless, battle over who got a quad first...

She was woken several hours later by white sunlight shooting through a gap in the heavy hotel curtains. She squinted at the time on the radio, stretched, groaned, and, reluctantly, sat up. 'I'd better go,' she said. 'Early flight.'

'Mm,' Sara yawned.

Mila glanced around the room. Located her underwear. Her dress. Her bag. 'I'll see you next season?'

'I certainly hope so. I'm still trying to work out how you do that pancake spin.' Sara leaned up. Mila leaned down.

'Have fun in the meantime, won't you?'

'I will,' Sara said. She smiled lazily. 'I will. But perhaps not, I think, as much fun as we'll have afterwards.'

**Author's Note:**

> The music that Sara skates to is fictional - I couldn't find anything that did exactly what I wanted - but here's [Alena Leonova with a Pirates of the Caribbean routine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iais8SwERwU).


End file.
